There are a few adages I am loathe to utter but which nonetheless communicate commonly accepted truths and come forth from the mouths of people I greatly respect. They are also generally expected from people in my profession. Here’s my least favorite:
Everything happens for a reason.
There are myriad reasons why this particular expression gets under my skin. Primarily, it has to do with the how and when of its usage. You’re most apt to have this offered to you as a viewpoint you *should* adopt when something really crappy happens and you haven’t yet begun the healing process. The folks who utter it during such times are well meaning, I’m sure, but it’s always struck me as insensitive at best and abusive at worst.
The adage is also a little too linear for me. I’m not sure I can get behind such a simplistic causation formula for our experience as humans. Take death. In the grand scheme, sure, there may be a simple spiritual, universal reason for dying. But when applied to the timing and manner of individual deaths or the endless “little” deaths we encounter, “everything happens for a reason” strikes me as trite. Perhaps my thoughts about this are similar in form to those of the atheist who believes that humans have simply constructed God to make themselves feel better.
Part of it is that I tend to be less of a “silver lining” kind of gal and more of a “call a spade a spade” kind of gal. But the truth is, a spade isn’t a spade unless I call it spade. See? That is the nature of reality, of language, of story.
In all of this, and on the day before the Thanksgiving holiday, I am reminded of the author Corrie ten Boom‘s recounting of her experience in a Nazi concentration camp. Her sister, imprisoned with her, insisted they give thanks for the wretched lice that had infected their barracks. Corrie balked at such an idea, knowing how much suffering the lice brought all the women living together. But thanks they gave. And it was only later that they realized the lice had been the sole factor preventing the guards from remaining present 24/7 in their barracks. Without guards, they were able to tend freely to one another’s deep spiritual, emotional and mental needs, gathering for meetings of prayer and discussion.
I’ve spent some time today exploring the relationship between being grateful and a resistance to silver linings and everything happening for a reason. There’s no arguing that the act and experience of being grateful is a useful, necessary and healing one and I’ve wondered if you’re more apt to be grateful if you consider that something seemingly crappy or tragic or painful happened for a reason. Or if you’re more likely to give thanks if you believe there’s always a silver lining waiting to be found.
Did the lice appear in order to remove the guards, thereby creating a more deeply nourishing environment for the prisoners? Was the ability to meet for prayer and discussion a silver lining?
Perhaps those questions are irrelevant. Perhaps gratitude is less correlative to a belief that everything happens for a reason or the dogged pursuit of silver linings. Perhaps identifying something as a spade can provide its own pathway to gratitude. Something more along the lines of Corrie ten Boom’s sister’s approach: Lice cause suffering. Let us give thanks.
I have much to be thankful for this year, as I do every year. Much that easily sides into the abundance column and makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside. But our human experience is one of yin and yang and so there are also injuries and struggles that I’ve faced. I am going to practice being grateful for them, too. I am going to practice being grateful for them because I am aware that gratitude transforms – ourselves and that for which we are grateful. I am going to practice being grateful for them because I know I cannot see the future. I am going to practice being grateful for them because they are part of the complete experience of my life, a life I cherish with abandon.
May you experience the fullness of your own day of thanksgiving!
